


A Dagger Through The Heart Would Be Kinder

by GaHoolianGirl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Conversations, But I figured adding a F/F tag to the fandom wouldn't hurt, F/F, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Leliana/Tabris is a background relationship, M/M, Morrigan's dark ritual, Ruthless Tabris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:58:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaHoolianGirl/pseuds/GaHoolianGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why is the Maker’s, or whatever god’s, name did you deny Morrigan’s ritual!?”</p><p>"I would rather die a hero than live with the guilt,” his tone, so cold earlier, was growing impassioned, “Put you and Leliana in our place. Could you just lay with another?"</p><p>"I would never,” she spat the word out like venom, “pass up a chance at life.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dagger Through The Heart Would Be Kinder

**Author's Note:**

> So this features my Female Tabris, Valynaya, who takes no shit, especially from human men, and Aidian, my Male Cousland who I made just because I wanted to play as a one-hander. Obviously takes place after Morrigan makes the male player an offer to save themselves.
> 
> It's rated M for cuss words.

There were no whisperings or rumors of an illicit liason as Valynaya stalked towards Aidian’s room on the eve before the battle of Denerim. It was long established and understood that their interests lie elsewhere. But there were murmurs and wonderings as to why she was doing it at all. They had a friendship of sorts; drawn together by a Blight and a mutual desire to lead a group in desperate need of leaders. This did not mean, however, that they were at all close.

She slammed open his door. He sat by the fire with Zevran, a chalice of wine in one hand and the other resting on Zevran’s thigh. The assassin looked just as enthralled by him. She almost hated to disrupt the scene, but her anger overtook her kindness.

“Aidian, we need to speak. _Now_ ,” she barked out. It was a command, not a request. He could easily overtake her, in sheer strength or hand to hand, but he respected her enough to listen. He looked remorsefully at Zevran, who in turned smiled reassuringly at him.

“I’m sorry to send you away, love. But...”

“I understand, _amor_ , I truly do.”

The Antivan stood to leave, but found a hand gripping his arm.

“Really leave, Zev. Go to the room the arl provided, and I will meet you there.”

He nodded, and gave Valynaya a look on his way out, a look that for all her roguish skills, she could not read. One he was done, and the door was shut, she was upon Aidian like a flame to wood.

“Why is the Maker’s, or whatever god’s, name did you deny Morrigan’s ritual!?” she spat. Her hands found themselves firmly on her hips, a gesture meant to keep her from reaching for her poison daggers. He didn’t respond immediately, and just stared up at her, blankly.

“How did you find out about that?”

“I have stolen precious gems right out from shem’s noses,” she growled out the term “shem” like he wasn’t one, “and slain many without them even noticing. I can listen through a door, Aidian!”

“So again, why the hells did you say no! You could have prevented someone from dying! You hold more than just your life in your hands.”

He stood up abruptly, and at his full height she would have be comparable to a small child in proportion. She backed up to accommodate him out of habit. He leaned against the mantle piece, “Riordan will-”

“Riordan is old, dammit. And what if he strikes the final blow, and the archdemon’s soul decides to jump to you? Or me? Or Alistair, the man you put on the throne? What if Riordan died beforehand?”

“Then why could Alistair not perform the ritual?” the measured patience in his voice wore thin.

“Because he would rather die than sleep with her. You actually have a sense of duty, Cousland. And she tolerates you. I cannot do it, Riordan cannot do it and Alistair cannot do it. Which leaves you,” she gathered her courage and squared up to him, gathering up the fabric of his shirt in her fist, “So answer my damn question: why!?”

He grit his teeth, “Because of...Zevran, alright!”

“Zevran!? You think he would rather chance your death than allow you to sleep with someone else?”

He laughed, and it was a bitter thing, “Morrigan said the same thing, if you recall from your eavesdropping. And the same thing did not convince me then. It isn’t a matter of his approval, regardless of how highly I regard that. It’s the damn principle of the thing. I would rather die a hero than live with the guilt,” his tone, so cold earlier, was growing impassioned, “Put you and Leliana in our place. Could you just lay with another?"

Her grip tightened, as did the look in her eyes, “I have spent my whole life trying to _survive_. I scrounged and thieved and decieved in that alienage to survive, under the watchful eye of shemlens like you. I fought and _killed_ to survive. I would _**never**_ ,” she spat the word out like venom, “pass up a chance at _life_.”

She released him with a shove, “Now go tell Morrigan that you are going to fuck her, or I will go tell Zevran all about it, so he’ll know that you passed an opportunity at a life with him when he watches you die.”

He felt his throat clench and they locked eyes, staring so intensely at each other that their combined glare might fell the Archdemon. “I can’t believe you,” he ground out from clenched teeth.

Her voice when from low and angry to calm and impassive, “It’s like Alistair said, long ago. Anything to stop the Blight.”

“And apparently anything to end all your friendships. I hope you and Leliana sleep well this evening,” he said, making no attempt at sincerity, “Enjoy the evening with the one you love. Because you love them, and hold them dear, and do not it want to betray them.”

He sounded nearly in tears by the end of his sentence, and stomped out if the room, not bothering to slam the door.

 _I almost pity the witch_ , she thought briefly, but shook it away. She was going to inform Zevran regardless, but it made an effective threat.

For her purpose, she didn’t even leave the room, “I see you are a poor listener, Zevran.”

“All in all, I think my listening skills are pristine. It is my obedience that needs work,” he sauntered into the room, and underlying anger in his step, “Proof that I listen well? I was only down the hall, when I heard you're shouting. I have a firm grasp of the situation.

Zevran had never been the sneakiest of the band’s rogues, but at that moment she didn’t even see his movement as he moved a hand up to tug her ponytail. She yelped and glared at him. He held his grip, forcing her head into a stiff backwards angle.

“I do not appreciate being used as leverage, _amica_. Not for a choice which is not your own.”

She bared her teeth at him, “You would have rathered him die, without even knowing he could have stopped it?”

“Of course I appreciate his life. It is the most valuable thing in the world to me. Which is why I do not appreciate it being toyed with by you or our dear swamp witch,” he paused, “Of course I am pleased he will live. But I am angry that he must live a life he regrets having.”

He released her, and with that, the viciousness in his eyes, which he hadn’t had since he had first joined them, dissipated.

“Now I must prepare to comfort him. I do hope that our lovely bard keeps your bed warm tonight, _cosa_.”

He walked out of the room without his usual flourish, and without even throwing her a sidelong glance.

She stood in an empty room that was not her own, and felt like she had an empty body which was not her own. Her words left a bitter taste in her mouth reminiscent of bile. She swallowed thickly, and she too made her way out the door.

There would be plenty of time for regret and for retching at your past actions, after the Blight had past. For now, all she had was a warm and full bed, and an Archdemon to slay.•

**Author's Note:**

> So? I am iffy on the writing but like my idea.
> 
> Also, I chose amica over amiga because Antiva has some Italy in it as well. According to google translate, cosa means "thing", which seemed like a fittiny insult; he sees her actions as something a "person" wouldn't do, so she's a "thing".


End file.
